


Dear Simon Snow

by neck_mole



Series: Carry On Countdown 2018 [3]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Letters, Love Confessions, Love Letters, M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 20:15:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16772131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neck_mole/pseuds/neck_mole
Summary: One day I’ll tell you I love you.-Every year at Watford, Baz has been writing letters for Simon on Valentine's Day. These are those letters.





	Dear Simon Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Carry On Countdown 2018 Day 4: Fluff Day
> 
> apparently i can't write fluff when i'm told to; suppose i'm a bit like rainbow (naturally antagonistic).
> 
> also this whole fic is in letter format, just to give a heads up.

Dear Simon Snow,

I don’t know why, but you’re hard to not look at. I hate it.

Get out of my school, or hold my hand. Either will do.

Sincerely,

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch

...

Dear Simon Snow,

My stomach goes all weird whenever I look at you. It’s been over a year since I’ve had to share a dreaded bedroom with you, and it makes my life a living nightmare. Do you ever stop talking?

Sometimes I want to shut your stupid mouth up. I don’t quite know how I’ll come about it, but one day I’ll succeed.

With all loathsome intentions,

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch

...

Dear Simon Snow,

Fuck you.

With the deepest hatred,

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch

...

Dear Simon Snow,

As our fourth year rounds out, I grow weary of my emotional intentions. There’s something odd with the way you look at me; there’s something odd about how you speak. Nothing’s changed, but it’s simply in my reactions.

I’m not quite sure yet as to what is happening or  _ why _ it’s happening. It’ll take further investigation in the slowly approaching summer months of our departure for me to fully comprehend why everything feels so awfully off.

It’s absolutely distressing. As much as I wish to punch you in the face, I long for the split second my knuckles graze your skin.

Maybe you’re giving me the plague. Who knows.

With a cautious amount of decency,

Basilton Pitch

...

Dear Snow,

Fuck me?

With a disturbing amount of adoration,

Baz Pitch

...

Dear Snow,

It’s been a long year.

No, it’s been a long  _ six years _ .

It’s all complicated, and one day I wish to explain it to you. Fuck all, one day I wish to hold you; to tell you all the things I think about when you lay in your bed across from me.

One day, I’ll tell you this:

I think you’re smarter than you let on. You’re oblivious, but you’re bright while you’re on your feet. (At least, you’re bright with your sword. Somewhat.)

Your smile is like the sun’s rays; I’m never allowed to look at it up close, and it blinds me from afar, so I have to stay my distance and sneak looks at it in desperation.

I get all mushy while you’re around. I know I don’t show it, and you surely wouldn’t believe me after that chimera (sorry about that), but I promise you that I teeter on the line of swooning every time you address me. 

I’d let you wreck me. So easy that you could just stab a sword through me and toss me aside.

It feels like that, quite often. That you’re stabbing and leaving me.

The day I’d heard that you’re really,  _ truly _ with Agatha, something in me broke. Maybe it’ll be mended, one day, but every time I see your hands interlocked, I can’t help but think how mine would feel in place of hers.

One day I’ll tell you I love you.

I love you.

Baz

...

Dear Snow,

I’m sorry for what we have to do.

As this war builds on and as our year seems to creep to a close, I become painfully aware of what’s to come.

One year, after this. One year left of me staring across the room, longing to reach out and simply rest my fingertips against your arm.

You cry in your sleep. Did you know that? At times, I’ll hear it, so I tuck your blanket up and cast  **_Hush little baby_ ** .

I’ve had to go through three bars in the past to get you to sleep, but it works.

Simon Snow, one day, it’ll all make sense. The fact that I’ve barely touched you since fifth year, my caught glances and seething glares at Agatha (to which you mistake for flitation; if only you knew). It’ll fall together, and it may be my downfall, but I accept it all.

I just want you. Your happiness, your joy, your peace.

These stupid Valentines Day letters may never leave the box below my bed, but so long as you’re happy, will it ever matter?

Love,

Baz

...

My Simon,

In this box there lies years worth of words I’ve never said.

Scratch that, you’ve heard  _ some _ of them, but not all. Not all the years I’ve had worth of Valentines longing.

I know I sound silly at times in these; I’ve read them over and over, searching for the words I dared speak only to myself. The words I’m sharing with you now.

You know how I feel. You’ve known; it’s only been two months, but I’m terrible at keeping secrets if your lips are pressed to mine. You held a key to something I thought I’d padlocked away.

But yet, here you are now.

We’re not perfect, nor may we ever be, but you let me hold your hand. Your chaste kisses and touches of my forearm at every chance we have makes my head spin.

You’ve been asking me for these past two months whether or not you’re really enough. Whether your existence, the missing magick you’d once held, the body count and the contouring of your figure into one with creaturely appendages, is something that I’d truly want.

Simon Snow, it would take an army to separate me from you regardless of how time has changed you.

I romanticized our downfall in my past, but now I wish for you to see that I romanticize our fight to get here. It’s an uphill battle, but I’m determined to win.

I never lose, after all.

My dearest Simon, I want you to know that I’m not giving up. Not now, not ever.

Happy Valentine’s Day and with constant love,

Baz


End file.
